Morning person?

Being in the morning when you're not a morning person is a surreal experience. The world looks different. In the winter, it's much darker, more damp. In the summer it's cool and refreshing. There is a particular pattern to the traffic. Cars come by at a steady pace, with a comfortable amount of space in between each other. And watching the morning progress, as the tempo increases, as your world warms up, you can't help but feel a sense of growth. You see the world change and you know that you can change as well.

me?

Should there be a plan for everyone
or at least/only for those
without one:
the aimless?
Do we seek meaning
instinctively,
yearning to understand the ultimate why,
or do most of us just slip into the day to day,
the grinding mundane normal?
All I have are questions, no answers.
I seek satisfaction, not meaning.
I want comfort, not purpose.

Unhappy

Why do I feel the need to meet a certain standard? I only wish to be happy, but my happiness depends so much on the actions of others. I put my happiness in the hands of others, in the hands of things I cannot control. Even when happiness is within my grasp, I keep it from myself. I put it on a pedestal, leaving it high up in the rafters, pining away at how unattainable it is all the while refusing to acknowledge the ludicrousness of the situation. Am I fundamentally broken? As I ask myself that question I hear it resonating across the gap between us. It seems to be a question popular amongst the doubters and the questioners, the resigned and the hopeless. It is a question asked only by those who are. You think therefore you are. You question therefore you are the answer. Perfection does not ask itself whether it is flawed. So I am flawed. That needs not be a barrier to happiness, yet I make it so. I used it to erect the fence around the pedestal I crafted from mistakes and criticisms of dubious grade. The lush linen cloth draped around the pillar I weaved from negative thoughts, forsaken hopes, anxiety driven fears.
When I can viscerally feel all the effort I put into building this effigy how can I bare to take it down? I look up at that pure white orb perched up top, its glistening light contrasting with the dull silver base and dark accents. I look down at my hands, calloused and scared, soiled from the work I put into my trap. To touch the orb would be to dirty it, or so I tell myself as I continue adding to the shrine. Nothing has been more a part of who I am. I built this place deep within me. But there is only so much space in myself. Only so much can be added before the pedestal tips and my work comes crashing down. And with it the orb. The light would fall, the shadows would flee, and everything would turn white right before it hits the floor, shattering, evaporating into air. It is a thought I've turned over more than once. Losing the light is terrible, but its end is so glorious. Losing the chance to hold the light in yourself is unbearable, but so is not being worthy of touching it. If the decision comes I don't know what I'll choose. I keep adding more adornments, but also I've taken some away. Maybe someday the pedestal will be more accessible. Maybe someday I'll find another place for my happiness.

Am I a Poet?

I'm not a poet of words
more of madness
of reaching into the unknown subconscious
seeking to dredge something out of the depths
I don't wax poetic
just describe my feelings as best I can
feelings I can't capture in its entirety
the rhythm of my thoughts beating, badump

What you want

Contracts and negotiations

set the foundation for clarity

and satisfaction

or at least to settle.

If you don't know what you want

or you don't ask for it

you are open to disappointment.

Understand what you want;

seek what you want;

you deserve 

to be content.

Something else please

When you do the same thing

over and over

it gets boring.

Ergo I need to do something else.

Please.

A room in my dreams

There's a room in my dreams

where I keep my hopes and fears.

They come into consciousness

through whimsy or through experiences

too imperceptible from reality,

experiences that are underlined

by feelings I'm not able to know.

These dreams keep me from rest,

a locked chest in this room

that I must pick every time

I seek peace, serenity.

Sometimes the chest is left unlocked,

the being that seeks to thwart me

easing in its restlessness,

granting me respite.

But always it returns,

unsettled by the days I have,

my travails and burdens

that I constantly accumulate.

So I linger outside the door
even though I yearn
for the contents sealed inside.
For the fear overflowing
seeps out under the door gap
flooding onto the carpet
getting my shoes wet.
Hopes stained, adulterated,
its call for calmness, quietude
heeded only in desperation.

Feel something

I'm blind to the things I feel
Everything blurring and fuzzing together
A buzz, low hum of tension
Muffling my mind and making me question
If there really is something beneath it
Or is this all there is.
This nameless sensation that confuses me
Making me question
Whether I am feeling anything at all
Making me want to
Feel something

Self-acceptance?

once upon a time,
I was someone
else, who thought
different things
and felt different ways
and wanted a different life.
Now I'm someone else
with different
thoughts, feelings, wants,
and that's okay
I think

Dead Leaves

It's just a song
to be remembered
Long storied sighs
Time passing by

We lived alone
Partly together
Bound by our eyes
Stars in the sky

But the world conspires
Against all lovers
Pulling apart
With no regret

And the tides of change rise up and covers
The days that the world will forget

Blank

I can't seem to be inspired when I'm not sad
I still have thoughts
but I'm not compelled to put them down
To be boring, that I am
I can't find the special things about me to say
I don't have the urges that I need to write about
To put out into the world
All I have is the usual blandness that is
my resting state
It's not the best feeling in the world
It can be a struggle sometimes actually
It's not like the black pit that haunts me when
hard times come
It's like the gray on a computer monitor when it dinks out
Occasionally flickering, adding some variety to my day
But mostly steady
Humming in the background
A tune I can't tune out